Pleasurable heat flared in Katerina's core, radiating outward to her extremities. If their stomachs hadn't growled in tandem, who knew what kind of shenanigans they might have committed.

Christopher smiled ruefully with one side of his mouth, and Katerina

compressed her lips in a similar expression. Then he took her arm and led her from the room. They stepped into the growing darkness as a brilliant orange sunset broke over London.

A hansom waited in the street, and Christopher escorted her to it, handing her

up into the seat. She groaned and bit her lip at the uncomfortable movement but

reminded herself of the importance of remaining flexible. When her husband joined her, she slipped her hand into his. The driver snapped the reins over the

back of his bay gelding, and they began their journey across town.

Less than twenty-four hours ago I defied my father to attend a poetry party

with my secret suitor of only a couple of weeks. Now we're married. My whole

life has changed in the blink of an eye, so fast I still feel dizzy with it. Thankfully, it was dizziness of the mind, not the body. Without a corset cutting off her breath, no longer bleeding, and knowing, objectively at least, that she was safe,

her hands and feet had never felt so steady.

On the other hand, the temperature had dropped with the approaching night.

Her shawl had been forgotten in the parlor of the Wilders' home and her warm

winter coat remained in the Valentino house, abandoned for good. She shivered.

While they traveled, Christopher engaged her in conversation, asking, “Now

then, love, clearly we can't stay in my cramped lodgings for long. How would you like to live? Do you prefer rooms in a hotel or a house?”

Katerina blinked at yet another new and unfamiliar thought. “I scarcely

know. I've never lived in 'rooms.' My father rented a house when he and Mother came to England, and we've lived in that very house ever since. It's the only living quarters I know.”

“Is it very large?” he asked.

“Yes.” She swallowed at the memory of the cavernous space. Sounds echoed

there, making it nearly impossible for her to keep her location secret. I didn't like that. Carefully choosing her words, she said, “I think I would like a house.

Perhaps a row house?” she paused while thoughts bounced around her head and

finally settled into a coherent idea. “Not too large, please.”

“Why not?” he asked, puzzled.

She struggled to put her fear into words an utterly confident, unabused man

could understand. “It's helpful for me to know where everyone is. The more space we have, the harder it will be to keep track of all the rooms.”

“Is it so you know where not to be?” he guessed.

“Precisely,” she replied.

“You don't need that anymore, you know,” Christopher pointed out.

She nodded. He's right. And yet the fear refused to leave her.

She could feel his gaze on her profile. “All right, Katerina. Tell me what you're thinking.”

I suppose I didn't suppress my feelings well enough. She regarded the buildings in silence while she pondered her words.

He ran his fingers down her cheek, capturing her attention again. “Tell me, love. I can see you disagree. You do need that kind of control, don't you?”

His gentle touch and soft voice disarmed her. She closed her eyes and told him the truth. “Yes, I do. For now, I do. I wish I could simply turn a gear and just like that, everything changes, but I can't.”

He treated her to a rueful smile. “You're right. I'm sorry I second-guessed you. I think a modest row house would be very nice. Perhaps with a little garden;

a green space is a blessing in the city. Tomorrow, I think, we can go and look for

a suitable place to rent.”

“We?” Her eyes widened in surprise. Does he actually mean to consult me about the choice?

“Naturally. I'll be at work at the factory many days a week. You need to be comfortable in our home. Of course, I want your opinion.” He spoke as though

the answer were obvious as he slid his fingers into her hand and squeezed gently.

“Are you real, Christopher?” she asked, turning to examine his face.

He screwed his lips to the side and furrowed his brow. “What on earth do you mean?”

“You seem too good to be true,” she said simply, closing her fingers tighter

around his as though fearing he would disappear if she let him go.

Even in the shadowy interior of the cab, she could see his cheeks darken.

“I'm not. I'm just an ordinary man. Nothing at all out of the common way.” He

met her eyes. “I'm sorry to tell you this, love, but the way you grew up was nothing like normal. Your father is… evil.”

“Yes.” Knowing that and believing it are two different things, but I do know

it.

“I'm not too good to be true. I have a number of bad habits,” he admitted.